Silver Tongues and Silver Blood
by Zugi
Summary: One lost card will bring the house crashing down, and no one knows this as well as Luciana Villeneuve. When someone from her past returns, her double life with the Thieves' Guild is threatened, and decade-old decisions return to haunt her. Thonar Silver-Blood is back on her trail, and she's on her own as she fights not only to escape his wrath, but her own identity.
1. Chapter 1

Her vision was blurry when she first opened her eyes, barely making out the dark grays of the dank cell that housed her. A hand was shaking her shoulder, words with hushed urgency barely making their way to her ears, let alone being processed as her head throbbed, and she began to feel the aching in her bones. She rubbed her face, and sat up, looking at the hooded figure who stood over her, until she began to recognize the scraggly features. His hands were fiddling with the lock on the door, and in a moment, it was creaking open, and he was tugging on her arm. Then she was on her feet, and he was pulling her up the tunnel as her wits slowly returned to her. Luciana couldn't remember how it was that she ended up there. The last she remembered, she was in Falkreath, and negotiating a deal with a group of petty thieves needing a counterfeit letter from Jarl Siddgeir.

It took her a moment to process the features of the scruffy Imperial dragging her away from her prison chambers: Good old Silian.

In a moment, he was wrapping her fingers around a dagger, and pulling her towards a covered spot between the rock wall of the cave and a few stacks of boxes barely taller than they were. Boisterous voices were coming from up the path, no doubt some of the other bandits that occupied the cave.

She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering in the chill. A rough tunic and footwraps were her only protection from the cold aside from her companion, who had wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Two Nords, giants compared to the wiry Imperial and the scrawny Breton, sauntered towards the prison chamber. They waited with bated breath. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The waraxes in their hands gleamed in the faint light. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Nords walked past the two.

"Move," Silian whispered, taking the point down the corridor, and ducking back behind barrels in the next chamber.

It gave her a headache to watch him, with the armor he wore giving him a sort of transient appearance. As if his body might suddenly disappear any moment, like the shadows were melding around him, concealing him.

She slid in behind him, and looked on to the fire that burned a dozen or so feet away where a familiar red-headed Nord sat, his warhammer laid out on the rock beside him. Silian had his eyes on the man, flickering his gaze between him and the exit- a route with depressingly few places to hide. Particularly for her. The Breton chewed on her lip, tasting blood, and Silian rested his hand on the small of her back.

He crept around to the edge of the barrels, and whispered over his shoulder, "I hope you're fast, Luci."

"Me too."

A rock skittered across the stone floor- an aimed toss from the Imperial, and the Nord jumped to his feet, looking towards the noise, clutching his massive warhammer as he walked towards it, turning his back on the skulking pair for the first time. He was only a few feet away as he stepped towards the tunnel they emerged from, only the wooden barrels concealing them from view. It was a miracle the man couldn't hear their heartbeats pounding like war drums. Suddenly, the dagger in the Breton's hand felt little better than a toothpick. And Silian's old Imperial sword looked little better.

Then two of the barrels tumbled behind the Nord, cabbages and apples and grains spilling out across the ground. Silian almost yanked her arm off as he pulled her in a sprint towards the exit, nearly slamming the both of them right into the wooden door that marked the entrance. Her lungs burned. The door swung open. Shouting. Bright light. The cold nip of Skyrim's air. Falling forward, falling forward, barely catching herself as the stones cut into her hands' tender skin. The bandits were yelling. Silian was yelling. She was probably yelling too. But they were running. And running.

And then they were gone.

-xxx-

"Back in those days, I had to be quick on my feet," Silian said as he stoked the fire, "And twice as light. I was the eyes of my squad."

Luciana pulled the horse blanket tighter around her, "If today was any indication, then you were good at what you did," she remarked, "Why did you leave it?"

He sighed and leaned back, "They couldn't pay me enough for it," the Imperial said, and scratched his neck, "Sell-swords get paid better than the Empire's 'best men,' and any soldier worth their salt figures out pretty quickly that whatever he or she's good at- somebody out there is willing to pay them better for it. The Guild has made me richer than the Emperor ever would have, and I don't have to kill people anymore."

The Breton dusted a few of the snowflakes that had just begun to fall from her shoulder, and looked up to the stars, "I guess that makes sense," she remarked.

"Well, why did you join the Guild?"

"I'm a businesswoman, Sil. I was already a crook. Might as well have other crooks to back me up," she retorted, and pulled loose strand of hair out of her face.

He stared at her for a moment, and she looked down at the frozen ground. The winds were coming from the north, from Winterhold, where the two were heading. Since their first meeting in the Ratway, they were fast friends, but the Imperial never seemed to be able to crack whatever it was hiding in her past. It was like a lock that every time one could feel it about to open, the pick would snap, and he would have to start all over again.

"You're not the only one with a dark past, love," he finally stated, "And you're not without friends."

Luciana finally met his gaze, and offered a small nod.

He was just like Donato in a lot of ways. At least the teenage version of her twin back when he was still at home. Back when everything was still okay. Although the Imperial was significantly more morally corrupt than she remembered her brother, he shared the same shade of copper eyes, the same even voice, the same desire to get her to finally open up. They even shared the same tendency to make her want to box their ears and throw them into the river.

It was Silian who first greeted her when she found herself in the Cistern, lost among padfoots and burglars. She could barely hold a dagger, let along draw a bow. She'd never even touched a lockpick in her life. Her footfalls were always heavy. Everyone's pockets were safe from her hands. What An-Zaw saw when he brought her in wasn't a burglar- but a businesswoman. A very crooked businesswoman. An embezzler. A forger. And someone that would have to do everything that he said. An-Zaw was known for making the Guild a dangerous presence in Skyrim again, and at the same time as she fled the Reach in wake of her crimes against the Silver-Bloods, he was recruiting fresh blood, stealing from aristocrats, and rebuilding the network. She was making a small fortune from embezzling in Windhelm, and when the lizard picked up her scent, the message was very clear: she could either work with him, or work for the rest of her days in Cidhna Mine.

By the end of the first few months in the Guild, Silian taught her a few moves with a blade and how to pick basic locks. It was his brand of kindness. Just like Donato always tried to help her make up for her magical ineptitude, always offering to tutor her, to teach her, to show here how to use a basic spell. He never could quite accept that she just lacked talent for it. That her mind couldn't wrap itself around whatever it was that allowed him to cast spells with such ease.

However, her identity remained a secret within the Guild, even from good old Silian. It had to be that way. But just like her brother, the Imperial had an unhealthy hunger for the truth. He wanted too badly to be there for her. Too badly, he wanted to be able to help her. But that was the one thing she couldn't allow him to do. Even if he knew how to.

Luciana inched into her bedroll as the silence grew, and her companion stared off into the wilderness, and she stared off into space, glancing between the crimson Masser and the smaller Secunda. The fire crackled softly, and the winds whistled in her ear.

"Luciana," Silian said, breaking the silence.

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me someday?"

The Breton closed her eyes. There were days that Luciana thought of telling him that she wasn't actually Luciana Villeneuve, that she wasn't a merchant gone-bad from Whiterun. There wasn't a day that went by that the thought of telling someone that her name was Corelia Tremblay, that she was the daughter of an outstanding mine boss from the Reach, and that embezzling wasn't a first choice, but a decision made in bitterness and desire to harm those she thought harmed her that lead her down a path of crime as she fled from the Silver-Bloods and covered her tracks.

She liked to think that there could be a someday.

Finally, she rolled away from him and replied, "You know that I don't make promises that I can't keep."

The final days along the roads towards Winterhold were increasingly stormy and icy, particularly as they began to spot the sparsely populated capital. She once read that Winterhold used to be a powerful dwelling, among one of the most formidable in the province. It was hard to believe such a thing when the only distinguishing feature now was the College of Winterhold with its crumbling stone bridge. But now, Ivarstead was often more lively than the tiny dwellings and single tavern that occupied Winterhold, and with the Empire re-establishing control in Skyrim, and war with the Thalmor looming over a fragmented Tamriel, it was unlikely to change anytime soon.

As they entered the city, the endless fall of snowflakes began to fade, and the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon. A number of residents were heading up the cobblestone street to a large building in its center, a fading wooden sign advertising it as The Frozen Hearth, no doubt the local inn. A pair of Imperials, one of whom was in heavy officer's armor, sat outside the inn at a small table with a ledger, trying to entice young Nords to put down their names.

Luciana looked at the ledger, noting the single, messily written name, before shaking her head, and continuing wordlessly into the inn, with Silian close behind her. The warmth from the center fireplace hit them immediately, and her frozen hands burned as they began to thaw. The Nord behind the bar called out a greeting, and the pair made their way over, taking a seat, and declining his offer of mead. A bard at the opposite end of the inn had just begun plucking the strings on her lute, exacerbating Luciana's already splitting headache.

Silian counted out twenty gold, and slid it over to the innkeeper, "For my room and hers," he said, before looking back over to his friend, and wrapping and arm around her shoulders.

"You didn't have to do that, Sil," the Breton remarked.

He shrugged, "I go home tomorrow. It's the least I could do for you before you open up shop here. Not that I know why you'd think this is a good place for business. But I might as well save you some coin before you lose it all," he teased.

She smiled, "It's a quiet little town. But that means I just don't have any competition."

"Pardon me, I don't mean to interrupt you here, but I was just wondering, do you have any family here in Winterhold?" the innkeeper interjected, "Because there's a man here, I swear he looks just like you."

Luciana froze.

Silian raised an eyebrow and looked over at her, "That's curious. Aren't you an only child?"

"Yes. I am."


	2. Chapter 2

Wind whistled as it battered the walls of The Frozen Hearth, where Luciana holed herself up in her room with an itchy blanket draped around her shoulders, and a bottle of Honningbrew mead on her desk. Several papers were scattered around in a chaotic organization only she understood as she made notes in the margins. The candle on the edge of her work space was burning low, its soft yellow glow casting long shadows throughout the small room. Beside her feet, Silver, a large black dog, slept soundly. His ears twitched, and he lifted his head just a moment before a soft knock came from the door.

"Luci," Haran called, "It's been a few more hours."

The Breton looked up, and rubbed her eyes, "Has it already?" she asked as she got to her feet, and unlocked the door, swinging it open with a soft creak.

"You should probably get something in your belly," the Nord advised, and smiled, "Your best work will come when you get away for a little while."

She stretched her arms out behind her and nodded, "You might be right. I'll be down soon," she said.

She turned back to the table, and reorganized the papers into piles, and carried the half-full bottle of mead with her downstairs. Others were there, some familiar, others less so, with many congregating around the fire that Dagur took special care to keep going strong. Much of the conversation revolved around the massive blizzard that rolled in just the night before. Luciana stepped over to the bar, joining the pair of Imperial soldiers, still desperately recruiting, and the bard whom sat with her lute laid out before her. The latter, a fair-haired Nord, smiled and offered her a nod in greeting when the Breton took her seat.

"Finally emerging from your cave, I see," the woman remarked, running her fingertips over the edge of her lute.

Luciana shrugged, "I've been busy. I don't stay here for pleasure. I don't have that luxury."

"That's a shame," the bard said, and smiled, "You should allow yourself a little pleasure," she continued, and rested a hand on the Breton's shoulder.

"If you've any ideas, I'd be glad to hear them," she replied, staring down into her bottle.

"Well-"

She was interrupted by a crash across the room as a red-haired Nord jumped to his feet, sending his chair clattering behind him. Across from him another man was slower to his feet, swaying slightly as he lifted his fists. Luciana recognized the two brothers: Rigmar and Bormir. The former was shouting, his words slurred as he took a wide swing, and nearly fell forward onto the floor as his brother stepped to the side and pulled him into a headlock. The entrapped patrons started cheering, shouting advice as the two fell against the table, and its contents crashed onto the ground.

"Rigmar! Bormir! Stop that at once!" Dagur shouted.

The two ignored him as Rigmar's right hook connected with his brother's jaw. Bormir staggered backwards, and then charged forward, tackling Rigmar onto the ground, getting a few more punches in when the two of them were illuminated with a light blue light. The drunken rage seemed to fade from the two of them, and Bormir quietly got off of his brother. He offered him a hand, helping him to his feet before they walked over to another table on the opposite side of the room, and taking a seat. The excitement from the room dissipated just as quickly. Some simply returned to their drinks or their meal, but others were glaring at the source of the blue illumination: a young Breton in dark green robes.

He stood at the base of the stairs, and his eyes had an uncannily calm glaze to them. It was as if all emotion had been sucked from his very soul. As if he'd sold it to Clavicus Vile. However, as he walked towards the bar, there was something far more terrifying to Luciana about the man. Those eyes were a light copper color. His jaw was sharp, and the beginnings of a beard were sprouting on his cheeks. Dark, curly brown hair covered his head. His shoulders were broad. He was tall for the typically short Breton race. No, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. She didn't want to believe what she was seeing. It was like he sucked all of the air from her lungs with his presence. He took a seat beside her, and she thought she was going to choke.

*He can't be him,* Luciana tried to convince herself, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her bottle, *He was gone. He was supposed to be gone. He's gone. He's gone. He's gone,* she thought.

"Dagur. Some Black-Briar, please," he stated flatly.

The Nord poured the contents of a bottle into a tankard, and nudged it towards the man, "On the house, Donato. Thank you for breaking that up before those bulls took one of the walls down. Just careful with the magic."

"Understood," he replied, taking a sip of the mead.

All at once, her hopes shattered like a rock through a temple window. Her stomach had more knots than loose fishing line. She thought things couldn't get any worse. And then he looked at her.

She was in her room again when she awoke, her head aching.

"Good morning," came a familiar voice from a chair in the corner.

Across from her was *him.* He still had the same dull look about him, his robes hanging listlessly from his shoulders, and dark bags hanging beneath his eyes. Luciana's head was still spinning, and she lay back down, shaking her head. She heard shifting as he got to his feet, and walked over, kneeling beside her. His hands glowed a soft blue as he held them above her head, and the aching slowly faded like water pouring out of a bottle. When she opened her eyes again, he was actually smiling.

"I never thought I'd see you again," Donato said, resting a hand on her forearm, "It's been so long. So, so long."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped.

"Corelia, don't you play dumb with me. It's been a decade, but I'd recognize you anywhere," he insisted, "I mean come on, you're my sister. You're family. I haven't seen you since... well. You know."

"I don't know this Corelia woman, but that isn't me," Luciana retorted, and sat up, "And I'm grateful you helped me out and everything, but I really don't need some strange man in my room insisting that he's related to me. I'm an only child."

"But you are," he replied, and pointed to the long scar on her wrist, "That's from when we were playing in Father's mine, and you cut yourself. And your eyes look just like Mother's. By Oblivion, as stubborn as you are, that's the Corelia that I know."

She looked away, "That was from an incident with a bandit years ago. Plenty of Bretons have brown eyes. I don't know where you get off on assuming that I'm your long lost sister or whatever. I'm not. I was simply feeling ill downstairs and I fell."

"Lia," he whispered.

Luciana squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears from hearing her old name. Her old nickname. She rubbed her eyes, and shook her head. He took her hand within his own, and she could feel the tears begin to wet her cheeks. Donato wiped one of the tears away with his thumb, and he pulled her into a hug. She shook her head, and he simply hugged her tighter. All of her lies were built on sand, and sand never stood well to the test of time. After all, every grain eventually slides to the bottom of the hourglass.

After a moment, he pulled away, and she could see tears on his own cheeks, and immediately his hands were glowing a familiar blue, and the magic illuminated his own body. The pain in his eyes drained away, leaving only an apathetic stare. His body stiffened, and he bore that same haggard appearance she recognized from the previous evening. It was like watching someone's soul leave their body. Except he was still alive.

"Would you like me to perform a calm spell on you?" he offered, "It is helpful for stripping away emotions, so you may make logical decisions."

"A calm spell?" Luciana looked at him incredulously.

He nodded, "Yes. We were both getting quite emotional. It isn't good for decisions."

"Wait, do you do this all of the time to yourself?" she asked.

"Yes. And for many of my patients. It is an excellent treatment for those enduring psychological distress. I believe if everyone used this, then many would be much better off. Far too much destruction results from excessive rage or sadness," Donato elaborated, and walked back over to his seat, "It is optional, of course. But you could benefit from these treatments, Lia. You seem quite distressed."

Luciana looked at her brother, unable to quite meet his glazed-over eyes. He sat far more rigidly, with his back erect and his body like a gargoyle, not quite alive. Yet, he was. She sat up, and swung her legs over the side, and she walked across the room and opened the door with a loud creak. He looked to her, and then to the door before he stepped out of the room, and the door squeaked to a close behind him.

"You were supposed to protect my identity," Luciana half-shouted in the training room of the Cistern, the door behind them sealed shut, "Why the hell would you send me to Winterhold if you knew he was there?"

"Correction," An-Zaw hissed, "We didn't actually know. Our reports showed him in Haafingar. Not Winterhold. Now you would do best to watch your tongue, girl. You should know by now your place within this organization is a privilege. It's a kindness. Remember why you're here."

The Breton ground her teeth, and lowered her voice, "It doesn't change that he knows where I am, now. It doesn't change the fact that now he doesn't think I'm dead anymore. He knows I'm very much alive, and if he knows, it's not too long before Thonar does."

An-Zaw nodded, running the tip of his glass dagger along the side of one of the straw dummies, his tail flicking back and forth. The blade glowed faintly, and left a scorched trail along the fabric, sparks flickering as the dummy threatened to catch. Then the Argonian then dug it into the side of its neck and out, before turning back around to meet the woman's eyes.

"I know this. Do you think I do not know this?" he hissed, and sheathed his blade, "Once upon a time you trusted me."

"I think we both know that this isn't a business where we trust others," Luciana replied, "But we did have a deal."

He sighed, and took a seat on one of the barrels on the side of the room, "Fair enough. You've been useful. We won't have you rotting in Cidhna Mine. But you and I both know that our influence in The Reach is limited at best. And the Silver-Bloods aren't motivated by money. It's not as if we could simply buy them off, and you could go free," An-Zaw then tipped his head in a motion that she could only assumed was amusement, "Although, I'm not sure why we would want to. As long as they want you dead, you're pretty well stuck with us. And you're a hell of a forger."

Luciana snorted at the joke, and shook her head. Although, in some ways, she wasn't even quite sure what she would do if the Guild somehow freed her from the threat of imprisonment. Joining a gang of thieves hadn't been her business plan when she set out in the world a decade before, but now it was mostly what she knew. She forged documents and altered ledgers and gave the Guild a great deal more flexibility in smuggling jobs and enabled them to get into locations that they previously hadn't been before. Although the Guild had others who could forge, it didn't change the fact that she was damn good at it, and it was the only thing she did. And she had only been getting better over the years. Sure, there had been her past failures that ended in embarrassment and guildmates in jail, but that happened less and less over the years, and she helped bring in a steady amount of coin.

"Well. I'm not much of one if Thonar nabs me. So we need a solution."

An-Zaw nodded, "Agreed," he said, "But in the meantime. I have some more papers for you to look over. More details on that job we've been working on. It's going to be a big one. We're going to need a letter from a Jarl."

"Sounds easy enough," she replied.

"Jarl Igmund."


End file.
